


Why Do I Keep Counting?

by orphan_account



Series: Brothers [8]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AU, Brothers, Gen, SO INTENSE~, angstage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-30
Updated: 2011-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-28 11:38:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/307485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s always been able to express his resentment about anything in the world. Except for Thor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Do I Keep Counting?

**Author's Note:**

> So, I hope this isn’t a disappointment after that monster of an update the last time around; that was abnormally long, so this is actually around normal length. Uhm, yeah. I’m actually frustrated with the beginning of this, but whatever. The title comes from a song of the same name by The Killers; the song actually inspired me through a lot of writing this, and I recommend looking it up and listening to it.

He wakes up and his phone is screaming at him. Well, it’s not _actually_ screaming, but the simple ringtone sounds like a fucking siren when his head is exploding on itself and he’s been sleeping with this hangover for God knows how long. His teeth feel furry, his hair is uncomfortably tangled in the way you can feel all over your head, and his comforter is knotted and twisted around him like a dysfunctional cocoon.

Sobbing softly (No, really; Loki can actually feel tears in his eyes even though he’s barely opened them. He’s _really_ intolerant of pain.), Loki drags himself to the edge of his mattress, towards his nightstand, and as soon as he starts moving, he feels like he’s going to vomit all of his organs out and die a slow and painful death. Lord have mercy.

Loki blindly gropes around on the bedside table until he manages to close his hand around his cellphone, and he’s pressing the talk button before he can even glance at the Caller ID just because he needs the ringing to _stop_. If it doesn’t, it’s going to kill him (if not literally, it’ll drive him to impulsively commit suicide).

“H-hello?” Loki whimpers shakily, and he really hates the helpless cracking of his voice. It’s like the world purposefully puts him situations to be hurt or humiliated for kicks.

“You’re alive,” Tony gasps melodramatically over the line. Loki would laugh if he didn’t know doing so would probably have him passing out from pain.

“Correction: I’m dying,” Loki croaks in reply, carefully rolling onto his back and closing his eyes to the ceiling. He lets out a shuddery moan at the spasm of agony that takes him, the sharp throb of a migraine coming from the center of his head, the thick, heavy feel of his tongue. A thin, nasty sheen of sweat is covering his body, and _yes_ , he feels like Death is breathing on his face and pissing all over everything he loves.

“No, you’re not,” Tony disagrees, “Your body’s just rejecting the alcohol.”

“Tony, don’t argue with me. Please,” Loki sighs, shivering in a way that genuinely scares him. He’s absolutely certain that he’s going to die, now, because his body is quaking in a way that can’t be healthy.

What a way to spend his last day, huh?

“How do you deal with it?” Loki asks with a whimper. The bed shifts and he almost yells in pain, and when he glances down to find out _what the **fuck**_ just happened, he sees Fenrir crawling onto the mattress, moving towards him. Oh, _no_.

But, wait. The universe must take just a _little_ pity on him, because Fenrir doesn’t bark or nudge him or lick him or do something crazy and pain-inducing. The husky just lies down against his side and rests his muzzle on his shoulder, watching him with light, soft eyes. And then Tony laughs and it’s like glass shattering to Loki’s ears.

“I just get drunk again,” is his response, and it makes Loki really want to hang up and stop talking to Tony for a week.

Here’s the thing: Last year, Loki met Tony and they became friends, right? As they got closer, Loki started to learn things about Tony, like how he was pretty much a technological genius, and how he had an eye (and a hand) for art, and how he lacked a good relationship with both of his parents, but especially his father. He noticed that on some days, Tony would be his normal, snarky, charismatic self, while on others, the charm would fall away and he’d turn into an obnoxious, irrational douchebag that would fling himself into risky, _stupid_ situations (and drag Loki along with him, more often than not). Even stranger, sometimes Tony would be abnormally chipper, with an energy and a happiness (like, cartoon character, three year-old child happiness) that was extremely unusual for him. It wasn’t until Loki went up to Tony’s dorm one day to discover him finding solace in bottles of vodka and Adderall  (which is prescription medication for ADHD, if you didn’t know) that he realized his friend was an addict.

Tony’s better now, but Loki still has that day clear in his rearview mirror. He’s scared that history will repeat itself and he’ll have to drag Tony out of a sea of alcohol and prescription medication once more, or, even worse, that he’ll be too late and will find Tony drowned. _Dead_.

“Are you drunk right now?” Loki asks quietly, raising his hand to rest on his forehead, “And if the answer is yes, just hang up right now.” He hears movement somewhere in the house and starts to cry a little bit, silently and without sniffles or sobs.

The last time Thor had him so fragile and broken to the point of tears, just with his very presence, was the month after the accident. It was so bad that Frigga had to convince Odin to bunk with Thor so that she could move into her sons’ room, because every time Thor walked in there and Loki happened to already be occupying the space, it took hours for him to stop freaking out and breaking down. To be honest, it’s not as unbearable now as it was then, but still. That Loki has tears springing to his eyes just because he can _hear Thor being alive_ is fucking ridiculous.

“No, no,” Tony quickly answers, “I’m hungover, too. I’ve just been this way so many times before.”

“Well, tell me something useful, then,” Loki rejoins with a faked calmness. He just wants to get rid of this horrible taste in his mouth and godawful pounding in his head. The nauseous feeling is getting worse; it’s like an avalanche waiting to happen. _Fuck._

“Throw up,” Tony instructs, sniffing quietly, “Just throw up. Drink a lot of water and eat something with carbs in it. Let yourself breathe.”

“If I _breathe_ , I’m going to–” Loki starts to say, relocating the hand on his forehead to rest against his stomach, which feels like it’s cannibalizing itself and trying to ram up into his throat.

“ _Vomit_ ,” Tony cuts him off, “Exactly.”

Loki squints his eyes shut and hisses deeply in pain, pulling his legs up and trying to curl in and implode on himself or something. Fenrir raises his head and nuzzles gently at his neck. Loki flinches away like the dog bit him.

“Look. I’m gonna let you do your thing, okay?” Tony says after a few moments of nothing but soft wheezing and groaning from Loki. Loki whines.

“Thanks, Tony,” he says with a bite of sarcasm, forcing himself to sit up. Loki has to fight against the upward surge of what he _knows_ is alcohol and stomach acid alone. Shit, the last time he ate _food_ was far too long ago (probably seven o’clock last night), no thanks to the apparent lack of sustenance in Steve’s house. Oh, yeah. Steve, the guy he spit on last night. What the fuck was that about?

Loki reminds himself that he’s insane. He still needs to call his psychiatrist.

“Come see me later?” Tony says with a little too much nonchalance, with that edge of teasing and snark and suggestiveness noticeable enough to be considered flirting; aka, bullshit Loki doesn’t have time for when he’s seriously about to _die_.

“Yeah, at my funeral,” Loki huffs before hanging up, uncaring whether Tony takes offense to it or not. If he’s alive in a few hours, he can deal with it then.

Loki practically shoves Fenrir off of the bed in his haste to get out of his room. He’s biting a hole through his bottom lip and tripping over himself trying to get to the bathroom, and his head feels like someone’s taking a hammer to it, and there’s what’s like liquid fire in his stomach and in his throat and _oh God_ , this is one of the worst hangovers he’s ever had in his life. It _is_ the worst hangover he’s ever had in his life.

And then he’s kneeling pitifully over the toilet, cradling his head in his hands and cursing at how his knees are aching from the impact of his unceremonious dropping onto them. His stomach is just a little better after he emptied most of its contents into the porcelain bowl before him, but _goddammit_ , his esophagus feels raw and drenched in acid. Well, it _is_ raw and drenched in acid, if you think about it.

Loki sniffs wetly, then regrets it a second later when the smell of vomit fills his nose. That’s really fucking gross, and it just came hurtling out of his mouth (which tastes even worse than it did before, by the way). He stuffs his fingers into his dark hair, and it’s greasy and tangled and _ugh_ , just the way Loki absolutely hates it. This has to be retribution for offending the god that is Steve Rogers. _Has_ to be.

“Loki?” a voice calls distantly from down the hall, and it’s about two seconds before Loki is scrambling to his feet and slamming the door shut.

It’s rude, it’s irrational, and it’s definitely _not_ on the mature side, but Loki’s fight-or-flight reflex kicked in as soon as he heard his brother’s voice (that’s sad, isn’t it?). He certainly can’t fight, especially not in the broken-down, oversensitive state he’s in now, so he’s going to fly (or hide; same difference).

Loki presses his front against the door, panting softly and staring at the grain inches from his face. As an afterthought, he flicks the lock; just in case Thor decides to take it upon himself and hurl the door open (he’d go flying into his sink if the man did). He’s listening carefully to the noise outside, and he can hear Thor’s heavy, slow footsteps approaching the door. Loki worries his lip.

“Loki?” Thor repeats, louder. Loki can hear the irritation and tiredness in his brother’s voice, and it suddenly occurs to him that _yes_ ; Thor has a hangover, too. It’s probably worse than his own, because, while Loki drank half a bottle of rum last night, Thor probably had _at least_ five beers and then a lot more other liquors.

Loki doesn’t answer. He just stays there, leaning against the door and biting his lip against any noise he might make. His stomach is churning again, though, and his head still fucking kills.

“Loki, open the door. Open this door,” Thor demands, and when he thumps his fist against the wooden plank, Loki doesn’t stop himself from jumping, from letting out a cry of surprise. His eyes start watering again, and he backs away from the door, eyes glued to it like he somehow might be able to see Thor through the thick wood. He almost can.

“Loki!” Thor yells, hitting the door again and muttering shortly after, “Goddammit, what the hell _is wrong_ with you?”

And Loki almost thinks it’s _hilarious_ that Thor is _angry_ with him. That Thor is the one who’s throwing a childish tantrum and pointing fingers, when Loki fucking _knows_ it should be him doing that. Thor should be the one hiding in the bathroom; not him, even though it’s _always_ him that’s hiding. Always him that has to be the scared one, the _wrong_ one. _Always, always, always._ If he wasn’t, the universe wouldn’t know what to do with itself.

“ _Loki_ , you open this door,” Thor growls, and there’s a distinctly threatening quality to the way he’s saying it.

Wait. He’s fucking _threatening_ Loki?

And then all of a sudden, that rage from last night, that fury that disappeared into depression, comes hurtling back into Loki like a goddamn eighteen-wheeler, and he’s brutally beating his body against the door, screaming, “ _Go away! Get the fuck out!_ ”

His voice sounds horrible and animalistic, like a war cry. It’s the gravity that makes the tears in his eyes start to fall, the force behind every punch and kick he aims at the door, just trying to get Thor to see _what the fuck he’s done to him._ Because Loki wouldn’t _ever_ do this to himself, wouldn’t ever get so terribly wasted, or lead Tony on, or spit in Steve Rogers’ face, or let himself be vulnerable, or _beat himself senseless_ _against a fucking **door**_ without Thor. He’s never been one for self-destruction until right about now, when his shins and his knees and his arms and his knuckles are burning with pain.

“Loki, sto–” Thor starts to protest, but Loki cuts him off with a sharp, stricken howl that sounds like he’s dying.

“ _Shut up, Thor!_ ” he cries, relentlessly banging his wrist against the door. He’s practically mouthing at the wood as he yells, “ _Just shut up for once! Shut up, shut up, shut up!_ ”

And then he falls to the ground, screaming his wrath. He’s just so _angry_ , and it’s fucking _terrifying_ how intense and huge and monstrous it is, this feeling. Loki’s been pissed on tons of occasions before, and most of those times, that irritation has been directed at something he could easily empty it on. He’s always been able to express his resentment about _anything_ in the world. Except for _Thor_.

Because Thor is perfect and Thor is golden, and Thor’s anger is always greater, more righteous. But, wait; it isn’t, not really. Thor’s never felt _this_ , this rage that consumes and swallows you whole like a monster. _That’s_ what Loki is feeling.

Eventually Loki has to stop sobbing and move, though, because his stomach happens to be crying just as hard as he is. He crawls, like a child, across the floor to the toilet and throws up again, and everything in him is suddenly on fire; his limbs are red and beaten (and they’re going to be bruised badly later, _shit_ ), his eyes are swollen with tears, and his throat is sore from all the vomiting and yelling.

Loki moans and weakly flushes the toilet, folding his arm over the seat and laying his head against it. He doesn’t know whether Thor left or stayed stationed outside the door, and frankly, he doesn’t really give a damn right now (but a part of him does, because a part of him wants Thor to hear him so broken and fucked up). He just cries, and cries, and cries. And cries.

After depleting the rest of the meager supply of water in his body through tears, Loki brushes his teeth and takes a quick shower, trying to wash the dirty, grimy feeling from his body. He notices bruises already flowering on his arms and legs, and he watches the way they turn pale whenever he presses his fingers deep into them.

When Loki slowly, almost fearfully opens the bathroom door and peers out into the hallway, it’s vacant. There’s the faint noise of the TV in the living room, but no blatant signs of humanity. Loki knows better than to get his hopes up, though, and he takes his time going back to his room, shutting the door, and changing into his default comfort clothes: a t-shirt and shorts, if you didn’t already guess. Fenrir remained sitting obediently on the floor by his bed, and after he’s done dressing, Loki gets down on the carpet and pulls his dog against him, petting through his fur and letting Fenrir lick at his face. He hasn’t been able to do something like that in a long time without getting mauled, and the fact really depresses him.

So, here we go. The anger has passed, and now it’s time for melancholy to take the stage. This rapid cycling is really starting to wear on Loki – it’s pretty exhausting, pretty _unhealthy_ , to go through more than one manic and/or depressive episode each day. He feels like, in his own words from yesterday, he’s on an emotional roller coaster of death, one that never seems to stop.

It soon becomes apparent that both he and Fenrir are absolutely starving, so Loki makes himself get up and go to the kitchen, dog in tow. As he passes into the living room, he doesn’t look directly at the sofa, but he can see Thor sitting on it in his peripheral vision. He thinks his brother might have looked up upon his entrance, but he doesn’t know (doesn’t care, either).

And see? That’s another thing about these mood swings; his priorities and perspective on things change so easily from one mood to the next.

Manic? _Everything is depending on how Thor reacts to me, Thor listen to me, Thor look at me, **Thor**._ Depressive? _No big deal._

Manic? _I need to finish that assignment and clean the mud off of the floor and do the laundry and_ oh my God _, where did the time go?_ Depressive? _Later._

Manic? _Tony, get over here and love all over me._ Depressive? _Tony, stop. Go away._

Manic? _I can’t eat that. That’s disgusting and unhealthy and has too many carbs and salt and other unhealthy items that I can’t eat because I care about my well-being in it._ Depressive? _Fry it._

Manic? _Steve Rogers? I’ll spit in his fucking face._ Depressive? _Steve_ _Rogers is the bane of my existence. I’ll go sleep on my feelings._

Get the picture?

First, Loki busies himself with filling Fenrir’s food and water bowl, allowing himself a small smile when the husky licks his nose in what is probably thanks (Loki likes to think that Fenrir has a human quality and understanding to him; why else would the dog be so sensitive to his bad moods and take the time to be _grateful_ for the care he receives? _Normal_ dogs aren’t _grateful_.). Then, he heeds Tony’s advice and snatches a Gatorade and a tub of cookie dough ice cream from the refrigerator. It isn’t the most conventional meal, but if Tony is right, Loki needs carbohydrates and water, which Gatorade and ice cream happen to have a lot of.

As he’s moving to sit at the kitchen table, Thor appears in the doorway. Loki almost drops his provisions on the floor right then and there, but he catches himself and kicks a chair back before he does. He slumps into his seat, back facing his brother as he screws the top off of his Gatorade and takes a huge sip.

“Loki… please don’t ignore me,” Thor says quietly, and that’s a little surprising, considering how pissed off he seemed to be twenty minutes ago. Well then, you have to consider the fact that Loki turned into a screaming, exploding mess on him. That might’ve made an impact, don’t you think?

“No ignorance on this side of the kitchen,” Loki replies drily, pulling the top off of his ice cream and grabbing his spoon. He listens to the small noise Thor makes as he starts to methodically scoop ice cream into his mouth, and it’s actually not that bad, considering his extremely low mood. The only downside to eating it is the energy it takes to accomplish this, however little of it there is.

Then, Thor is standing across the table from him, and Loki refuses to raise his eyes unless he absolutely has to. He’s sixteen again, sitting in his mother’s kitchen and waiting for Thor and/or Father to stop glaring at him and just start fussing already. But Thor doesn’t fuss.

“I don’t know where to start,” the man sighs, running a thick hand over his face like he does when he’s frustrated or trying to rein in an outburst of anger.

“Then don’t,” Loki says, swallowing a mouthful of Gatorade. His head is still pounding, his stomach still feels weak, and his body still generally hurts, but he can imagine that the food is helping.

Thor apparently doesn’t like his answer, because he fixes Loki with a glare hard enough for him to feel when he’s not actually looking at his brother. Loki sees Thor’s hands ball into loose fists at his sides, and he slowly continues to eat his ice cream, idly fingering his damp, messy hair with one hand. He knows it’s not smart to avoid talking about the elephant in the room, and he really doesn’t want to forgo this conversation anymore; it’s been held off for far too long. It’s just… he’s tired. _Really_ tired. And in physical pain. Yeah.

“What happened last night?” Thor finally asks, and his voice is hard and controlled, like a wire pulled taut but not tight enough to snap.

And Loki indeed feels like a tightrope walker as he answers with his usual dispassionate sarcasm, “I spit in your darling Steve’s face. Weren’t you there?”

Thor shoves the chair across from Loki back and plops down in it, bending in an attempt to meet Loki’s eyes. Loki doesn’t let him succeed, though; he just lowers his gaze even more and concentrates on consuming the Gatorade and ice cream in front of him.

“Why the fuck did you do that, Loki?” Thor snaps, his irritation more evident this time, “Why do you always have to be so complicated?”

That’s what makes Loki look up, glaring lightly. He holds Thor’s clear blue eyes while trying not to look too hard at the man, afraid he’ll do something rash again and rip his brother’s hair out if he does.

“I did it because Steve needed someone to finally let him know that he’s a supercilious asshole who doesn’t care about _anyone_ if they’re not like him,” Loki answers, keeping his voice even and slow, “What you two were doing was wrong, Thor. Remy and Marie did nothing to you.”

Thor’s eyes get wider and wider, his brows going higher up on his forehead as Loki speaks. He’s clenching his lips shut, actually trying to _listen_ for once, but it looks like it won’t be long before he bursts.

“I did it because I was _pissed_ _the fuck **off**_ ,” Loki goes on, and his tone quivers a bit because he’s starting to see Thor, like, _really **see**_ him, “You should know how that feels, to be so angry you can’t stop yourself from _hurting someone_ … right?”

Thor swallows and looks to the side, and _oh yes_. Loki’s got him now, _finally_.

“I did it because sometimes I have to get a little insane for someone to actually listen to me,” Loki gasps, sniffing loudly and resting a palm against his left eye. The noise catches Thor’s attention, and the man looks back at Loki just in time to see a tear trail from the corner of his eye down the side of his face; his expression takes on a horrified air.

“I did it because I _hate_ Steve, because even though he’s so nice and friendly and wonderful, he’s got everything I don’t, just like _you_ ,” Loki continues, voice shaking, “Because you set me up with _Fandral_ , because you abandoned me, because I’m crying every fucking night at everything you do, _waiting for the day_ you wake the fuck up and _see me!_ ”

And then Thor gets this shocked and angry expression on his face, which, coupled with the dread that was already there, looks pretty scary, like a recipe for disaster. Loki doesn’t really care, because he’s staring at his brother through a thin sheen of tears, biting a sore into the inside of his lip.

“This is about Fandral?” Thor asks, his brow furrowing.

Loki laughs, involuntary and completely out of disbelief. He slaps his hand down on the table, eyes wide, leans forward and answers, “Of course it is, you idiot!”

What the fuck is wrong with him?

Thor shakes his head a little, defiant, narrows his eyes and cocks his chin up in a way that’s dominant and overpowering, just like everything else about him.

“W-w-what, why are you getting mad at _me_ about that?” he asks, moving towards Loki as well, “That was _his_ thing! That’s what he wanted to do–”

“And you fucking _let him!_ ” Loki cuts him off, and suddenly his voice is that same strangled cry it was in the bathroom, and he’s standing up, glowering down at Thor. He’s twenty, standing in his own kitchen and screaming at his brother, because there’s no time to wait anymore. Time’s run out.

Thor gets to his feet as well, leaning over the table and getting in Loki’s face. It’s not scaring Loki, though. If anything, it’s making him angrier.

“He’s my friend!” Thor yells, and his face is becoming red and contorted with rage, but he hasn’t touched Loki yet. He’s safe (I say this because the moment he _does_ lay a hand on his brother, Loki will probably go fucking nuts and Thor will die).

“I’m your _brother!_ ” Loki retorts, openly crying. They’re screaming at each other like animals, now, separated only by the table between them. Loki has his hands angrily splayed on the flat surface while Thor keeps fisting bluntly at the wood.

“ _Yes!_ ” Thor huffs, blinking furiously and staring at Loki with such direct incredulity and ire, “I _am_ your brother, and I didn’t want you to _get hurt!_ I wanted you to have fun with Fandral! I didn’t know you already had a boyfriend.”

And then Loki’s obstinate resentment comes to a grinding halt. If his anger was a volcano spewing lava before, now it’s like magma coursing slowly beneath the Earth, not quite dormant, but not ruthlessly destructive.

“What are you talking about?” Loki gasps, narrowing his eyes and shaking his head (there’s quite a bit of head-shaking going on here, is there not?) in genuine confusion. He almost knows _exactly_ what Thor’s going to say, but he doesn’t know why the man would say it, see? Thor doesn’t know that he and Tony are close friends. No.

Thor scowls, gives Loki this look that’s so oddly pissed off and what? Protective? Disappointed? It looks like both as he says, “Steve told me all about you and that Tony Stark.”

Steve _Fucking_ Rogers. The magma turns back into lava, just like that; all Thor had to do was mention Tony and Steve.

“Steve doesn’t know _anything_ about me and Tony!” Loki shrieks, eyes the size of the moon. It vaguely occurs to him that this is the way it should be, that Steve really _shouldn’t_ know anything about him and Tony. The only way he could know about them is if Tony told him.

But, no. No, no, no, no, no. Tony wouldn’t do that to them. Not to _them_.

Thor tries to interrupt, yelling over him, “He told me–!”

“ _You_ don’t know anything about me and Tony!” Loki goes on, raising his hands into tightly-balled fists and his voice to a higher volume, “You don’t even know who _the fuck_ Tony _is_! You _don’t know_ Tony!”

“ _Loki!_ ” Thor shouts, punching the table. It’s enough to get Loki to shut his mouth, and the brothers stare at each other, faces contorted and red with rage and confusion and _so much_ antipathy that you can smell it, _taste_ it in the air.

Thor pants hard for a moment, catching his breath like he’s been on a long run, before saying, “He told me about how you are together. About how Tony talks about you, _all the time_ , about how he touches you and looks at you…”

“That’s just Tony,” Loki breathes, and he’s suddenly much more aware of how blatantly romantic and/or sexual his relationship with Tony would appear to a bystander. That kind of changes a lot. Thor isn’t listening to him, though.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Loki?” Thor asks, and he looks affronted; hurt, even.

“About what?” Loki counters, “About some nonexistent romance I have with Tony Stark?” Thor glares, Loki persists, “Okay, Thor. Tony and I are dating, but _not really_ , because that’s not tru-”

“Are you calling Steve a liar?” Thor snaps, and _oh my God_ , Loki kind of wants to just start screaming laughing at that. _Of course_ it’s Steve’s fault.

“I’m not calling him a liar!” Loki exclaims (oh shit, they’re raising their voices again), “I’m just saying that what he told you was wrong, probably because he misunderstood. Steve isn’t always right.”

“Like _me_ , right?” Thor answers, and damn, does it _sting_ , “Because I’m always wrong to you, _right?_ ”

It occurs to Loki that maybe they feel the same; wrong.

“I _never_ wanted you to get hurt, Loki!” Thor yells, “That was when we were in high school, but now? I’ve been trying to _fix_ you ever since I got here.”

“Yeah, you’re doing a stellar job,” Loki snaps, and he really doesn’t mean to get sarcastic again, but it’s hard when they’re so close and when, despite his words, Thor upsets him so much. _So much_.

Thor snarls, punches the table again, asks, “Well, what the fuck am I doing wrong? Is it because of what I’m doing, or is it because I’m the one doing it?”

“Both!” Loki gasps, and he’s crying again, tangling his fingers in his hair and suppressing the urge to just rip it out, “You never respect me, and you never listen to me! Even though this is my fucking house, you act like you can do whatever you want in it. You don’t respect anybody but yourself or Steve. And you’re never there. And you’ve never said sorry.”

They both know what the sorry is for.

Thor’s eyes gradually get wide and round, his angry expression turning into something wounded. He watches Loki cry, watches him cradle his face in his hands and sob into his palms. This is a lot worse than that day in the bathroom, because they both know that if Thor tries to tell Loki to stop crying or calm down, everything will be ruined. It’s too late to just _stop_.

When Loki feels like he can speak, he mutters into his hands, “You can think about that. You can do what you have to or get the hell out of my house,” he pauses, looks up to regard his brother with broken, weepy eyes, “I’m not living like this, I’m not going to wait for you forever, and _you know_ I won’t play nice if you don’t.”

Thor stares at him, impossibly vulnerable. He looks like he has honestly no idea what to do, and some part of Loki pities his sudden indecision. The two of them gaze at each other, almost as if they’re waiting for the other to crack or move or breathe.

And then Thor whispers, “I’m sorry,” just as the phone rings. The sound makes both brothers jump in surprise, and they hold each other’s eyes for a moment longer before Loki moves to answer the telephone.

“H-hello?” Loki says into the mouthpiece (that’s the second time today he’s answered the phone like that), struggling to keep his voice steady and failing. Thor watches him sadly from across the room.

“Loki?” Frigga’s voice comes over the line, surprised and gentle. It’s like the voice of an angel, hers is, and Loki can’t help but let out a sob of relief. Mother’s talking. Everything’s going to be fine.

“Darling, what’s the matter? Are you crying?” Frigga asks, her tone growing urgent.

“Yes, Mother,” Loki replies, and when he looks at Thor, his brother’s expression is alarmed and so, _so_ guilty. He finds no pleasure in that, though.

Frigga pauses before musing, “It’s Thor.”

Loki leans against the wall and continues to watch Thor, who stands stiff as a board, as he repeats himself, “Yes, Mother.”

There’s a quiet shuffle over the line before Frigga says, “Let me talk to him.”

Loki makes a small noise of acknowledgment and pulls the phone away from his ear. He holds up it in the air in Thor’s general direction, rasps, “Mother wants to talk to you.”

Thor looks like he might get angry for a moment, like he’ll turn accusatory and yell at Loki. But he doesn’t, instead swiftly walks over to meet his brother. He looks hard at Loki for a moment, and Loki returns his gaze, unwavering.

Then Thor takes the phone and puts it to his ear, says, “Mom?”

Loki walks around Thor and back to the table, scowling deeply when he sees the mess of ice cream, forgotten and left to melt on the wood. There go his carbs. He carefully picks the soggy tub up and runs it over to the trashcan, listening as Thor says, “Yeah. Yeah, h-he told me.” Pause. “Just now.”

Loki returns to the table and retrieves his bottle of Gatorade, gasping softly when Fenrir brushes against his legs. He looks down at his husky and is met with wide, anxious eyes, and he realizes that the dog most likely watched and listened to the fight between him and Thor. Of course he’s worried.

Loki bends down to scratch Fenrir behind the ears as Thor says, “Mom, I know,” pause, “I _don’t_ have _anything_ against Loki. I wasn’t trying to hurt his feelings.”

Sighing softly, Loki walks out of the room with Fenrir at his heels, not looking back at Thor. He nestles into the sofa and lets Fenrir lay down on the cushion next to him, pets the dog’s head when he rests it in his lap. Loki changes the TV channel from Cartoon Network to the Discovery Channel and drinks his Gatorade while he watches seahorses dance.

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t have much to say about this. Oh! I do want to let you guys know that I personally love Steve Rogers and that I have nothing against him. I just thought I’d let you know that.
> 
> Comments are very much appreciated, lovely people. I love you guys, I do.
> 
> \- Gabi.


End file.
